Sometimes the Livin' is Sweet
by Mayarin
Summary: Bryan Denton has traveled the world reporting on the most important stories of the day. Will the most important story of his day revolve around a Swedish Meadowlark?


I thought I'd write a little piece inspired by a Denton/Medda scene I imagined. I would love to get feedback on what you think. I hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies or any of its characters, but I do own all others.

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><p>The theater was quiet; it was an hour before the rally and the newsies hadn't arrived yet. Bryan Denton knew it was going to be a momentous night – the night for the newsies to show the world what their determination could do.<p>

He could feel the brimming excitement, even with the theater empty. It was going to be an inspirational event – and, he hoped, an inspirational article – filled with the wonder of children and their resolve.

He had arrived two hours early to set up his equipment and to get a feel for the venue. Journalism wasn't just about facts, he well knew. Feeling, emotion, sensation were the substance of what made people read articles and convince them to read more.

He wandered around the theater, taking notes, both mental and written. The building roused him – the old world charm that would soon be mixed with young enthusiasm created a beautiful paradox he almost couldn't fathom.

Perusing the halls, he came across Jack and David.

"Hey, Denton, glad yer heah. Theah's someone I'd like ya ta meet," Jack said, motioning for the reporter to follow with a jerk of his head.

Denton followed Jack and David even further into the theater. They came to a door of rich mahogany which was just as luxurious yet comforting as the rest of the building. "Medda" was carved across the door and accented in gold leaf, further outlined in baroque decoration.

Jack knocked, and a sweet, "Come in," replied.

Bryan Denton found himself in the middle of a dressing room filled with tassels, satin, gold filigree, velvet, feathers, beads – so many things he knew could write for ten years and not describe it all. There was just so _much._

His mental inventory was distracted by a head of bittersweet red hair.

"Denton, dis is Medda Larkson. She's the one hostin' the rally tonight."

Her smile was expansive and welcoming. He stood benumbed for a moment, carefully calculating his next words.

He saw her helpfully glance at his hand and realized his mistake.

"Please forgive me. How do you do, Miss Larkson?" he said, offering his hand.

She replicated his motion and put her hand in his. "I am very well, Mr. Denton. I must thank you for everything you have done for these boys," she said as she looked at Jack and David. "They truly are very dear to my heart."

He smiled at her sincere concern. "Oh, well it's nothing really."

"No," she eagerly interrupted him. "It's not nothing. It's really something. It's really something most people don't have the courage to do."

He didn't have a ready response to her compliment, so he smiled again. His shoulders relaxed when she smiled back.

"Jack," he heard David say. "Come on, I think Brooklyn's here already. Let's go."

Denton smirked and rolled his eyes. _Was this all a ploy by those two?_ He realized he didn't care. Not now, anyways.

"So, Mr. Denton. The boys tell me you are a newspaper reporter. You must have seen some very interesting events in your time, no?" Medda asked.

"Oh, yes. I used to be a war correspondent for the New York Sun and I saw some pretty fascinating things."

"I'm sure. I've read your articles about the Spanish-American War. Quite riveting, I must say. Weren't you frightened?"

"At times, but it really wasn't as terrible as everyone made it out to be. Sensationalism is the lifeblood of the newspaper business, you know. I've found that it's the smaller things, like this strike, that are often the most compelling. Simple people doing great things."

She nodded her head at his response.

"Well," he said finally. "I should probably go and finish setting up."

Medda stood and went to open the door for him.

He walked out and turned around. "It was a great pleasure to meet you, Miss Larkson."

"Please," she said with a wink. "Call me Medda."

Caught in his formality, he grinned and said, "Thank you, Medda. I hope we have the chance to meet again."

"Oh, I have a feeling we will."


End file.
